


It's Thurs...Friday?

by verfound



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Endgame Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, F/M, Luka is a Good Boyfriend, dumb jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27411568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfound/pseuds/verfound
Summary: Marinette’s been running herself ragged.  Luka’s just looking out for his girl.
Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 8
Kudos: 137





	It's Thurs...Friday?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like the week after my brother died, when I was just needing to get SOMETHING out but couldn’t really focus on the bigger projects. And then I kinda forgot about it and just found it while cleaning up the hoard for WIPvember. It’s silly and stupid and I don’t even care. I still like the joke. xD

Marinette wasn’t answering her phone.

That hadn’t been entirely unusual as of late, though. She’d been incredibly busy, and sometimes it took her a while to reply to his texts. Calling her was hit or miss, depending on where she was or how loud she had her music cranked up to focus. So when Luka texted her that he was outside her door and she didn’t reply, he wasn’t entirely surprised when she didn’t answer. When he followed that text up with a call that also went to voicemail, he still wasn’t surprised. Or worried.

He wasn’t even really worried when he knocked loudly on her door and there was still no reply. There were still a few possibilities here. She might be cramming at the library, or still neck-deep in fabric at the office, or even running off some steam over the rooftops of Paris. It was even possible, a doubtful but still kinda hoping part of his mind added, that she was actually sleeping.

She hadn’t been sleeping enough lately. He doubted that was the case, but he could still hope.

Best case, she just hadn’t heard him. Worst case, she was out. Either way, he had a bagful of takeout that was cooling on his arm and needed to get in her fridge, so when he’d exhausted every avenue and she still hadn’t answered, he fished his keys out of his back pocket and found the one belonging to her door.

“Marinette?” he called after he’d opened the door and stepped inside. The light from the main room was on, but he didn’t hear or see anything. “You home, darning?”

When he still received no answer, he made his way into the kitchen and set about putting the food away. There was a familiar yellow box stuffed with assorted pastries that Ma S had given him with explicit instructions to _make sure her baby girl was taking care of herself_. He left that one out on the table.

Marinette had been crazy busy lately, and they were all worried about her. Her internship was nearing its _completion_ (which was just Audrey Bourgeois’s way of saying Marinette was going from intern to actual paid employee), which meant she was busier than ever at work. She also had her last batch of finals and projects coming up, which would wrap up her final year in university. Paris had been quiet since Hawkmoth’s defeat, but Team Miraculous still ran frequent patrols to help the local authorities out, and every now and then something new reared its ugly head. ( _Aliens. What. The. Hell._ Nino had enjoyed that one a bit too much – _“I fucking_ knew _it!”_ – but Luka was still baffled by the level of bizarre his life had taken on since first meeting his kwami.)

…on top of all that, her lease would be up soon, and she was in the middle of packing everything up to move in to his flat a few blocks away. (It was bigger, and his lease was better.) She wasn’t as far in the packing process as she’d like, but he had assured her they’d pack her up together after graduation. She had bigger things to worry about just then, and all he wanted was for her to take care of herself. That was easier said than done for someone like Marinette, who felt overwhelmed and terribly behind if she wasn’t ten steps ahead with her plans and often let her own needs go in the name of a deadline. This wasn’t the first time Luka had shown up relatively unannounced with food and demands for a nap.

He hadn’t spoken with her since early that morning, when she had been scrambling around to find matching clothes after her shower and whining that she hadn’t had time to do her laundry. He’d offered then to come over and help out, maybe bring her some takeout over. Do her wash and vacuum or something – whatever she needed to feel in control again. His Friday was blessedly clear (Saturday was another issue), and he didn’t mind. He hadn’t been entirely sure she’d heard him as she’d rushed out an _I love you bye!_

When he went into the living room, unable to stop his grin when he saw the stack of boxes tucked against the far wall, he was absolutely certain Marinette hadn’t heard him.

She was sprawled on the couch, her mouth open and drooling a little on one of the throw pillows. Her noise-cancelling headphones were on her ears, though he could still hear Jagged’s latest project blaring from them. Textbooks, flashcards, and sheets of notes were scattered around the table before her. The best part, though, he was fairly sure…she was lying on her stomach, hugging the pillow she was drooling on with her ass in the air. He had not been aware that Marinette, his beloved up-and-coming fashion designer superstar girlfriend, owned Day of the Week underwear (and he’d been pretty sure he’d seen all of her underwear by this point). Somehow that fact just…could not compute. They weren’t trendy or fashionable – her boss would probably turn up her nose and call them _utterly ridiculous_. But there she was, pink fabric stretched across her ass with _Thursday_ scrawled across the top in fancy script.

He knelt beside the couch, chuckling as he slipped the headphones from her ears. He went to turn the music player off her phone and smiled when he realized she had his track on loop – the one Jagged had given him the guitar solo on. She mumbled something a little incoherently and shifted, burrowing her face into the pillow.

“Darning,” he whispered by her ear, pressing his lips against the side of her head. His hand slid along the curve of her ass, his thumb absently tracing the font declaring the day to be _Thursday_. “You beautiful disaster. It’s Friday.”


End file.
